


The First of Complications

by Evaldrynn



Series: In Her Loving Memory [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Foruneyti alternative timeline, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaldrynn/pseuds/Evaldrynn
Summary: She shouldn't be doing this, she really shouldn't.A Fǫruneyti fic yet in an Alternate Universe/Timeline, in which many, many things have happened differently. The character cast is the same, the magic system is the same, but oh so many things have changed. Please read Fǫruneyti first!





	The First of Complications

**Author's Note:**

> Part III of In Her Loving Memory

“Y-You've been coming here quite often the last few days, your Highness.” 

But Loki barely spared a glance in the trembling man's direction, as his mind was already occupied and his eyes were focused on someone else entirely. 

He watched her from the doorway, watched as she grounded herbs and berries and whatnot into a pulp, and he knew she knew he was there. She was ignoring him. 

“I injured myself during another one of my experiments,” was his only explanation for what must be the sixth time he visited in two weeks time. Her movements did not slow down or halt. 

The way the light falling through the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around her, the way it caressed her skin.

He was vaguely aware of the nod the man gave in return before he called the woman's name, not as much a request as an announcement, and she lay her work aside before turning around and striding over. 

Even the way she walked did things to him.

She did not meet his eyes and yet still managed to convey her irritation, even dared to let it sound through into her voice. “Once again?” 

With a sigh she gestured towards the chaise longue by one of the massive windows, and like the five times he had come here before he obeyed her soundless command without hesitation. He sat himself down, a wave of his magic enough to get rid of his chest piece and to expose the burn that spread across his pale chest. He could easily have healed it himself. 

“The first time it was your hand, the second time your other hand, then two arms in two successive days, and the last time it was your shoulder. Should I be seeing this as a pattern, my prince?” 

The way she used his title sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine – one he was careful not to show. Not your Highness, not your Royalty; no, the title she used was more intimate, more personal. Nothing she said was truly formal, and he wondered if she was fully aware of it.  
A part of him hoped it was because she was interested in him.  
Yet with every time he had visited and had flirted with her she had grown more frustrated, even taking it to the point of scolding him for his imprudence, though she knew just as well that it had nothing to do with his lack of care. If anything, he cared too much. 

_”For Yggdrasil's sake, can't you just be careful for once? My life would be a whole lot easier if you didn't come here and interrupt my work every other day.”_

He had grinned, but he had picked up on the weariness beneath her annoyance as well. Did she not want him around, or was it merely a farce? Was it truly based on how busy she claimed to be with other tasks? She was a mystery to him, a puzzle he could not seem to solve. 

But he was determined. 

Was it her gentle voice that had him returning to her? Was it the look in her eyes? The way she spoke to him like a friend who was fed up with his mischief? Perhaps a combination of all that, and more. 

His smile was deceitfully sweet. “And what pattern would that be?” 

He knew she was intelligent, far more so than most of the other workers and servants inside the palace, and he also knew she was aware of his interest in her – yet it was beyond him why she kept parrying his teases instead of letting him wrap her inside his honeyed words, instead of letting him catch her and hold her, keep her to himself. 

It couldn't be because of his reputation as she seemed not the slightest bit scared of him. No, she dared to talk back to him like no other, even forgot to address him with the proper title sometimes, or maybe she simply refused to. But if it wasn't her fear or hate for him and the things he had done, then what else could it be? He did not think himself repulsive in looks, not in his Asgardian form anyway; though he may never be rewarded with a title of beauty like his brother had been. He was cunning, skilled in magic – which, he had found out since the first day she had treated him, she possessed as well – and not easily beaten in combat. He was diplomatic (when the parties involved were capable of basic reason, of course), playful, maybe even seductive. And most of all he was a prince, with riches and status to his name. 

Or... Had she been able to pick up on the shards that lay beneath? Was that what repulsed her – a broken man, a tortured soul in quite the literal sense? Or had she heard of his Frost Giant blood, and had she decided that she could never be interested in someone like that? 

“You know just as well as I do, my prince; and I recommend you stop injuring yourself in increasingly intimate places.” 

Still, she motioned for him to lay down, and after he had obeyed once more she took her place beside the chaise and lay her hands on his chest so she could set her magic to work. The injuries had never been worth healing with magic, shallow as they were, but it was the fastest way to get rid of them – and of him, so she gave him the same treatment every time he came by. Merely giving a salve would require him to return more often, to get his wound checked and to ask for more ointment. He knew she would try to avoid that at all costs. 

“Or else?” He shot her a dark grin, until the other healer awkwardly cleared his throat and shot her a worried glance. Without even turning around she seemed to know exactly what the man was thinking. 

“I can handle this, Baerne. Take a break if you wish, or help Dagny; she's in the conservatory.” 

Her melodious voice, always so kind; and to think she spent so much time with that man sent bolts of jealousy into his brain. This woman drove him insane – the mere touch of her fingers on his skin had been enough to make him come back for more. He craved it. He craved her. And he was determined to make her his, competition or no. 

And so, as soon as the man had shut the golden door behind him and left the two of them alone in the main room of the Healer's Wing, a mischievous glint settled in his eyes – a glint she noticed only a fraction of a second too late.  
Before she could step back he took hold of her arm and pulled her on top of him, his other hand pushing against her hip so that her entire body lay on his, and it felt like his blood was on fire – no, every fibre of his being was engulfed in flames. 

“Are you sure about that, my lady? I might be quite a handful.” He pressed her hips down against his and the soft mewl that left her throat made his heart miss a beat, a low, lustful growl rumbling through his chest. 

“Stop it, Loki!” She pushed herself up and shot him a warning glance, but it had the opposite effect of what she tried to accomplish. 

Because he saw how her pupils had dilated, and hearing his name fall of her lips made him buck up against her and press his arousal against her core. 

“Are you sure you want me to stop?” He pressed down on her hips again, making sure she felt just exactly what she did to him; and the way she bit on her lip to keep the moan from escaping her told him all he needed to know. Still, he was no monster. “Then say it. Say it again and I will leave you alone.” 

She opened her mouth, the conflict visible within her eyes when she pressed her hands softly against his chest, but she used no force; and she did not speak again. Yet he did not expect something in her gaze to snap, and before he knew it she bent down to kiss him. 

With a flash of his magic he switched their positions and captured her wrists in one hand only, pinning them to the slanted headrest of the chaise with his other hand free to slip underneath the hem of her pants while he crashed his lips against hers again.  
He was drunk on her taste, addicted to how she moaned into his mouth when his fingers found their destination between her legs. The way she kissed him was almost desperate, as if she had been longing for him like he had been longing for her, as if she had been craving his touch just as much as he had been craving hers. It was maddening.  
Another flash of magic and all doors loudly locked, the curtains sliding almost violently to cover the windows as he could barely control himself. 

“No, wait, I shouldn't-” She slipped her wrists from his grasp and softly tried to push him away but the attempt was weak, without true will, and when his thin lips moved to explore her neck one hand slid into his raven hair to keep him in place. She couldn't seem to make up her mind. 

“Why do you resist me? I know you desire me like I desire you, or you would not have been this _wet_ for me,” he growled the words and nipped at her earlobe, reveling in the sounds it elicited. Without any difficulty he slipped two slender fingers inside of her and curled them, making her cry out and buck up into his hand. “Yet there is still something that keeps you from surrendering yourself to me. Tell me.” He rubbed the pads of his fingers over that sweet spot within her, his body needing no thoughts or directions to find what made her quiver. 

“You-” she cried out again- “You are a _prince_ for Yggdrasil's sake!” 

He moved the neckline of her blouse to the side and softly bit down on the place where her neck met her shoulder, his fingers not ceasing their movements even once, and he easily slipped a third inside. 

“And I can do whatever, or _whomever_ I want. That is not a valid reason, dearest lady. Try again.” 

But his ministrations to her body kept her from forming a coherent response, her lungs occupied by gasps and whimpers. Heat shot through him at the feeling of her fingers digging into his shoulder as the others formed a fist inside his raven locks.

He smirked against her skin. “Then, if you have no further reasons to keep us from enjoying each other's presence to the fullest-” he waited for a heartbeat, gave her another chance to say no, to push him off of her, and when her grip only tightened he let his magic take care of their clothes- “I suggest we lose ourselves to a bit of fun, shall we?” 

His free hand moved down to one breast as his mouth found the other, nipping and sucking at the hardened bud in ways that made her back arch in pleasure. How her nails raked over his back and over his scalp made him groan against her, the squelching sounds of his digits pushing in and out of her causing his member to twitch impatiently; and when his name left her lips in a wanton plea he lost all control.  
He pulled from her core and pushed her knee to the side, before rubbing himself over her slick folds and coating himself in her essence. She was a drug – her smell, her taste, the feeling of her, and the anticipation of what he was yet to feel – it was enough to make his mind go hazy. 

He aligned his tip with her entrance and looked up to meet her gaze. 

“If anything feels wrong do not hesitate to tell me. I will try being gentle with you if that is what you wish, though I may not fully succeed. You drive me insane, my lady.” 

And his heart faltered when he saw the tender fondness bloom amongst the blue and gold, the tiniest of smiles on her lips. 

“It's okay to lose yourself, Loki.” 

He didn't need to be told twice. With one powerful trust he sheathed himself fully inside of her and locked his open mouth over hers to swallow her cry, his arms trembling ever so slightly from the intense pleasure that washed over him. Her tightness, her warmth, the clenching of her walls around his shaft, the praise she whispered between loving kisses – it was nearly enough on its own to send him over the edge. 

But he restrained himself. He was going to fuck her into the chaise like he had been fantasizing about for days, and he was going to make her scream. 

He gave the both of them another moment to adjust before he slowly pulled out and slammed back into her, feeling his tip reach her cervix, and swallowed her sounds as he repeated it again and again and again, faster and faster and faster. Her cries so sweet as they joined his moans, her scent even sweeter. Her grip on his back so tight as she pressed her breasts against his chest, her spine locked into a delicious arc that allowed him to reach so deep he could barely keep his eyes open – yet the sight of her face contorting, of the small drops of sweat forming on her forehead, it was something he wanted to burn into his memory. 

But he had underestimated how close he had brought her with his fingers and mouth alone and soon her moans went up in volume, her teeth digging into her lower lip as she tried to smother the sounds. 

“Don't hold back, my love; I want to hear every delicious sound you make.” 

And only when he trusted a final time, hit that sensitive spot within her, and made her cry out his name as she came, did he allow himself so spill his seed inside of her. 

And he realised the words he had spoken. 

The bliss washing over him was too strong for him to be able to do much, but his eyes widened ever so slightly and he focused them on her, on her pleasure-induced, then peaceful expression, searched for anything that explained why he felt so strongly for her. Was a mere two weeks enough to fall in love? Was the joining of their bodies for the first time enough to make him confess feelings he did not even know he had for her? How could she, she and everything she was, everything she did, how could it make him lose his composure so easily? He had never slipped up like that before, never-

But his thoughts were wiped from his mind when she pushed herself up on her elbows and kissed him, kissed him oh so lovingly, and his heart did not know what to do. How could she make him feel all of this, all of this and more?

And, when she softly pushed him off of her and slid from the chaise, not even daring to glance back again, he felt more lost than ever. 

“I... You should get dressed; I'll clean this up.” Her voice was soft, sadness lacing her words. 

Did she want him to go or... to stay longer? She did not comment on what he had called her. Had she not been surprised, or even a bit disturbed by his sudden confession after a mere five times of meeting each other? He wanted to continue, wanted to hear her scream his name as he sent her into oblivion for the third or fourth time that day, yet even if she denied him that, even if she granted him the privilege of her kiss or words only; 

“I have nowhere to be be for the rest of the day. I would gladly spend the rest of it in your presence-” 

“I'm sorry but I will have to decline. I... I can't-” She took in a deep breath, and he could hear the unshed tears in her voice. How desperately she tried to keep them back. “I can't do this.” 

With a mindless flick of his wrist their clothes were back on, and he slowly, cautiously, walked over to her. “Why not?” Even he, the infamous Trickster, could not cover up the hurt in his voice. “It is not merely your body I am interested in, if that is what you are afraid of. I want to know more about you. Join me for dinner in my chambers tonight, or take a walk with me through the gardens.”

He did not care how desperate he sounded, as it was exactly how he felt. His soul urged him to say more, to convince her, made his chest sting and burn as if her refusal would kill him. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist or lay his hands on her hips and hold her close, wanted to bury his face in her hair and neck and be enveloped by the scent of her. He wanted to kiss her, and to know that he was truly allowed to. That she had chosen him over everyone else. 

But she seemed unable to force an answer from her throat. Her tears were falling now, silently, and panic surged through him. Had he said the wrong thing? Had he hurt her? He... Did she feel violated? A rush of nausea washed over him. That had not been his intention, he wasn't like that, he needed to convince her that he wasn't. He did not know what had driven him, why he had been so... so _violent_ , almost, in his courting. But the looks she had given him, the fondness that had convinced him she bore the same feelings-

Slowly she turned to face him fully, with a tiny smile and an apologetic look that broke his heart, and she whispered:

“Can you hold me for a moment? Just... Please, just hold me.” 

He slowly closed the distance between them, trying to keep the utter confusion from seeping into his gaze, and gently pulled her against his chest. Her arms found their way around him and hugged him so tight it was nearly uncomfortable, with her face buried in his tunic and her fingers curled to fists into his emerald cape. The strange feeling of déjà vu washed over him, but he ignored it and allowed himself to rest his cheek against the side of her head, lying to himself, telling himself that it was more for comforting her than himself. 

Was this... Was this her way of saying goodbye?

And just as the thought crossed his mind her grip loosened and she rose onto her toes, to place a last kiss on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you figured it out yet?
> 
>  
> 
> Hit me up on my blogs!  
> http://feelingwonderfultoday.tumblr.com/  
> http://foruneyti.tumblr.com/


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